


Dreams

by Magik3



Category: Excalibur (Comic), New Mutants, X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Accidental Orgasm, Dream Sex, Exhibitionism, F/F, Voyeurism, actual sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-05 19:33:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17331059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magik3/pseuds/Magik3





	Dreams

  
  
On Muir Island, Kitty crawled into bed, over Illyana (who preferred the side by the door, while Kitty liked the side against the wall), so tired that she was asleep before she’d gotten fully under the covers.  
  
Some time later, she became blearily aware of Illyana pulling the sheet and blankets all the way over her exposed shoulder and up to her chin. Then—was this the same period of wakefulness or had she dozed?—of Illyana’s hand coming to rest over Kitty’s pubic mound, cupping gently.  
  
In a dream, Illyana’s hands cupped her whole body and she relaxed into them.  
  
She half-woke as one of Illyana’s fingers slid lower, barely parting Kitty’s lower lips at the top, not quite reaching her clit.  
  
Depite the cool weather, Illyana had left the window open slightly and a breeze blew in the briney smell of the ocean. Kitty would’ve curled onto her side, pressed back into Illyana, but that hand on her pubic mound, the single finger almost where she wanted it, kept her on her back.  
  
She moved an arm, stretching it up and then across the bed as Illyana snuggled closer, her head on Kitty’s shoulder. Kitty meant to ask something, to say she was probably too tired for this, but instead she fell back asleep.  
  
A drowsy, timeless span later, Illyana’s finger slipped that half-centimeter farther, resting on that hooded, so-sensitive spot.  
  
Kitty had been dreaming that she was back in their bedroom in the mansion, sitting in her bed, reading Elfquest. The wires at the back of her computer began sparking. She got out of bed and leaned over the desk to see what the problem was. Stretching across the desk as her fingers pulled apart tangled wires, she felt Illyana teleport into the room—and realized she’d gotten out of bed in only a T-shirt.  
  
She’d bent over the desk from next to the chair, with her butt facing Illyana’s bed, which meant that since Illyana tended to teleport in at the foot of her own bed, she was now standing right behind Kitty.  
  
“I’m just trying to fix this. There’s a short,” Kitty said and started to push off the desk and stand up.  
  
Illyana’s hand landed firmly in the middle of her back and pushed her down until her chest pressed against the desk surface. “Don’t let me stop you,” she said roughly. “We need that computer.”  
  
Somehow—dream logic—it was the middle of the day. “What if someone walks in?” Kitty asked.  
  
“Fix the computer or I _will_ leave the door open,” Illyana said.  
  
Kitty fumbled at the wires. Then came the creak of bedsprings as Illyana sat on the foot of her bed. That would put her close to eye level with — oh my gosh, oh no — Kitty’s bare ass.  
  
Fixing the wires was easy. But then Kitty reached further around the back of the computer, to steady herself, and widened the stance of her legs, because if Illyana wanted to look, then Kitty didn’t quite feel like backing down. Plus this pressed her against the desk in very nice ways, her breasts harder against the surface and the edge of the desk quite near the most sensitive area at the top of her legs.  
  
“Kitty,” Illyana breathed, and she came half-awake, enough to be aware that she was in two worlds simultaneously and in one Illyana’s finger pressed on her clit.  
  
In the dream world, the edge of the desk seemed to rise, press into her and she rocked against it, widened her legs more. Had Illyana opened the door to their room? She couldn’t remember what opening the door would be the punishment for. Who might be in the mansion this time to day? Who could see Kitty bent over this desk with her shirt riding up, so much of her exposed, obviously for Illyana to see. And what was Illyana doing? Was that a soft, rhythmic metal sigh of the springs as Illyana stroked herself while watching Kitty?  
  
If Illyana had her hand in her pants, or maybe she’d taken them off, she wouldn’t leave the door open. Would she? And yet, Kitty felt the breeze from the window pick up strength, as if it blew across the room into the hall. She felt it stream cool across her wet skin, hot from her embarrassment—at having been caught like that, but also that she’d stayed here. Nothing held her down to the desk now and yet here she was, showing Illyana everything.  
  
“Did you open the door?” Kitty asked.  
  
And heard Illyana’s rough, drowsy voice next to her ear whisper, “Do you want it open?”  
  
In slumbering darkness, a single, strong finger slipped lower, finding the wetness gathering between Kitty’s lips. Illyana didn’t stop to play in it like she usually did, only slid a tiny way into Kitty. Too small to be measured in inches. A millimeter? Two?  
  
Not enough sensation to wake Kitty fully and she fell back into the dream. Illyana’s finger moved another millimeter and another.  
  
Dream-Kitty focused on the breeze stroking her wetness. She rested her cheek on the desk and tried to listen for footsteps in the hall. She was barely rubbing herself against the edge of the desk and yet she was already so wet—as if she could feel Illyana’s gaze, as if it reached into her so gently, spreading her soaked inner lips, opening her up.  
  
A creak in the hall? Or was that the house settling as it so often did? Just one creak not a step, really. But not everyone walked. What if Warlock saw them and had so many questions and asked Doug? Or Dani, what would she do? If it was Roberto, Kitty had no doubt he’d be jerking off to this for weeks. The idea of him getting painfully hard seeing her and Illyana like this, having to go to his room and tug on himself until he got some release was hotter than she wanted to admit. But the hottest part of it was when Kitty imagined him seeing Illyana, who had to be stretched back on the foot of the bed, leaning on one elbow, zipper wide open, hand working in her pants.  
  
She hadn’t heard Illyana even take off her boots, so she had to have her pants on. And Kitty wanted to think this was so affecting that Illyana hadn’t bothered to push them down over her hips, had just jerked her zipper open and shoved her hand in, making a moving rise under the denim as she worked herself, watching Kitty.  
  
How could she be this wet just from lying across this desk? She felt a drip travel down her lips—and because she was face-down, that brought it to her clit, the thick, heavy moisture seeming to pull on it. Another drip slid down to the first, making the pull on her clit so heavy.  
  
At the same time, in bed, Illyana’s finger slid lazily out and in, getting wetter each time. The blankets moved. Kitty thought of Illyana’s tail. Was it there? What was she doing with it? Which part was the dream? Maybe all of it. Illyana had never been this slow in bed before. The pace of her finger was so slow it didn’t even rise to the level of maddening, as if Illyana intended to memorize every molecule inside her.  
  
Dream-Kitty felt another drip move along her burning, wind-cooled lips, and realized that when it joined all that wet at her clit it would slide down the front of the desk  
  
“I should get up,” Kitty said.  
  
“No,” Illyana whispered. Her breath came fast now, the sound of the springs faster and louder.  
  
Kitty groaned as the heavy liquid left her clit. She could imagine it streaking down the polished wood suface, leaving a clear trail whose origin would be so obvious, even after it dried. And then, to make matters worse, another dollop of wetness slid from between her lips, rolled right down over her clit and kept going.  
  
She could say it was … some kind of polymer she’d been … experimenting with on … on the computer? On herself? Not admit that she’d gotten so turned out knowing that Illyana could see every detail of her, every bright red, exposed part, that Illyana could see how she was pulsing with need, how her lips and her opening were fluttering, contracting and expanding, begging Illyana to touch her.  
  
And Illyana was also inside her with one finger that felt as big as the world. A finger that had gone in exactly 4.2 cm and now pressed up against that rough, sensitive spot, the underside of Kitty’s clit. The pressure made her clit strain and swell and stand up and need touch so badly Kitty was moaning, trying to move her arms, leaden and immobile with sleep.  
  
In the dream, a third drip streaked down from Kitty’s clit and a fourth, and then she lost count. She was streaming wetness, her legs too weak to pull herself up, her arms strangely numb.  
  
“Let me clean this up,” Kitty begged.  
  
“Shhh, it’s my mess,” Illyana told her, voice and breath brushing Kitty’s ear. “I wanted to make a mess with you and you’re doing so good.”  
  
“Touch me. Please.”  
  
“Am I not?”  
  
“You’re watching,” Kitty said. “Touching yourself.”  
  
She felt Illyana’s hot mouth on her neck even as she slipped from the warm comfort of bed back to the cool breeze of the dream: her most private places exposed not only by how bare she was, but by what felt like a pool forming on the desktop under her, spilling over the edge, the evidence of her need.  
  
A soft flatness moved across her hip—the tip of Illyana’s tail. Yes, perfect, except how could Illyana reach her from the bed? Did that matter at all when the tip of Illyana’s tail finished its journey over her hip and tucked down between Kitty’s legs, slipping in the pool on the desktop and coming to rest, very wetly, on her clit?  
  
Had Illyana’s tail pushed more of that pool down the front of the desk? What must it look like? So many drops had fallen, there had to be thick streaks and outlying drips. If it was Roberto watching, if he was still watching, was he comparing what he saw on the face of the desk to how much he came? Even if he came a lot, Kitty felt pretty sure she had him beat and she hadn’t even come yet. Pretty sure Illyana had him beat too, from the sounds coming from the bed, the soft moaning, she had to have soaked her panties and be wetting her jeans. Kitty imagined Illyana as wet as she was, imagined streaks and drips running down the inside of Illyana’s legs.  
  
“Are you going to come?” she whispered, knowing Illyana could hear her.  
  
A groan answered her and Illyana’s body shaking against hers, a long string of swearing in Russian that included “fuck” at least three times—and Kitty was fully awake, in bed, lying in wetness, Illyana’s finger hard inside her, pressing in and up, Illyana’s tail heavy on her clit—Illyana convulsing against Kitty’s side, her left hand obviously between her own legs, her face pressed to Kitty’s neck.  
  
The memory of the dream was close enough that Kitty could overlay it on her waking experience, feel Illyana coming undone in bed beside her and, at the same time, hearing her lose control in their old room, also swearing and soaking her jeans—while dream-Kitty knew whoever had been in the door was doing the same—and she’d started the longest, drowsiest orgasm possible. Maybe beyond possible, maybe it hadn’t been possible until just now, feeling her dream body press against the desk and release in slow circles beginning with her lips, her opening, pushing out a rush of wetness, sluicing down the desk, and then each tiny muscle inside her letting go, as slowly as Illyana had been fucking her, ripples going out and out through her body.  
  
Ripples that met Illyana’s finger and her tail and travelled back through Kitty, making a hundred tiny troughs and rises, nothing high enough to be a peak, no sudden jolt of pleasure, just more and more warmth, ecstasy, joy swelling in her.  
  
It went on so long, she fell asleep again.  
  
In the dream, Illyana helped Kitty off the desk and sat her in the chair. Held Kitty in her lap and told her how good she’d been, while the rough denim on Illyana’s thighs rubbed the over-sensitive skin of Kitty’s behind. Kitty wondered how much she was soaking the material over the thigh that held most of her weight.  
  
On the way back to wakefulness, Kitty retained one clear moment in memory—Illyana turning the chair so they could admire the streaked wetness down the front of the desk. It was quite a mess.  
  
“Wet,” Kitty murmured.  
  
“Yeah, scoot over, come here,” Illyana said. “I made a mess.”  
  
She tugged at Kitty until they were both on Illyana’s side of the bed, wrapped tightly around each other, legs entwined.  
  
“ _You_ did?” Kitty asked, feeling how soaked she was between her legs.  
  
“Love, I used my tail to dribble lube over you. And then I got carried away and there’s, like, half a bottle soaking into your side of the bed now. Did it work?”  
  
“Oh, yes, so much. In the dream I was beyond wet.”  
  
“Sweet! What door was open?”  
  
“Our old room. I think someone was watching.”  
  
“Naughty,” Illyana laughed, quieted, paused. “Sorry about waking you up. I didn’t mean to come like that. You were supposed to be asleep the whole time. I just, sometimes, with you … you know.”  
  
“I was asleep enough," Kitty said. "And you know I wouldn't have wanted to miss _that_."


End file.
